


nectar, golden and sacred

by GirlFromTheRing



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Confessions, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Roommates, Vampire Park Seonghwa, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22351480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlFromTheRing/pseuds/GirlFromTheRing
Summary: Hongjoong's roommate has been avoiding him for weeks. It shouldn't matter to him, not really, not like they owed each other anything. He just really wishes it went beyond the teeth marks on his neck, beyond the hurried 'get rest', and beyond the goddamn cereal.Maybe Seonghwa wants the same.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 14
Kudos: 261





	nectar, golden and sacred

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [share your mouthful](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316170) by [magicsoul (cherishiskisa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiskisa/pseuds/magicsoul), [strawberrv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrv/pseuds/strawberrv). 



> guys i wrote this in a few hours while my brain yelled vampires!! blood kink!!! at me so voila enjoy this mess thank you and good night. i'll beta it later, thanks for reading <3
> 
> inspired by a fic written by my two fave authors pls pls go read it your mind will be blown

Seonghwa will go mad with this urge. His muscles shiver, like how one feels after stepping out of a swimming pool on a cool, summer day. He can feel his skin prickling with goosebumps, except his hair won’t stand, won’t grow. He gave up that privilege years ago.

He lies, curled on his plush sofa, reaching for something, anything, to hold his hand through the haze his mind has created, clouded with urge -- raw, uncovered, glaringly obvious urge. It used to nag him, at the back of his mind. Now it blares sirens in his head, the constant ringing in his ears, he can feel it in his bones, desperate cries for release. Please, it asks of him. Give in. Feed. Sink your teeth into his flesh, taste the elixir, golden and sacred. Drink it, cherish it, drown yourself in it. Give in.

Seonghwa breathes -- he doesn’t need to, not like his heart beats or his cells need energy or his parasympathetic nervous system will respond to anything -- Seonghwa breathes, for the sake of breathing, to shelter himself under the guise of composure. It doesn’t work.

Give in, it tells him. Go knock on his door and ask him, beg him if you must. Get on your knees. Do what it takes.

So Seonghwa stands, warily, controlling his steps so that he doesn’t seem desperate. Does it matter? No. Hongjoong knows, but Seonghwa would like to keep his dignity. Hongjoong knows, but he can’t know how _much_. Hongjoong knows, but Seonghwa can’t let him know that he craves him, only him. It’s maddening, how close he is to Hongjoong, right outside his door, now, but he’s so out of reach.

Hongjoong opens the door before Seonghwa can knock. His heart beats wild, rapid, uncontrolled. It drowns every other sound in Seonghwa’s head, it almost drown his urge, his desire. Almost. For now.

“Uh,” he starts, unsure. Seonghwa’s surprised he can speak with how fast his heart is beating, but all things seem possible with Hongjoong and his blood, his healthy, rich, blood, pumping to his healthy, rich muscles, so human. “I thought you might need me.”

Christ, he can’t stand those words, right now. He doesn’t need Hongjoong. (Lie.) He doesn’t need anyone (except Hongjoong.)

For now, only now, he convinces himself.

Hongjoong steps aside, a clear invitation. He comes in, he crosses the threshold. It’s chaos.

His fingers fly to unbutton Hongjoong shirt -- why, why now, why today, a shirt, really? -- while pulling him closer. The scent, god, the scent. He’s intoxicating. His scent, not him. This is only for Seonghwa’s urges, he has to remind himself. Nothing else, nothing more.

Because this, too, shall pass. Hongjoong will leave eventually, and Seonghwa will be back to looking for strangers at clubs to feed off. That’s normal. This isn’t. 

He’ll take advantage of this, though. As long as he can. He has the luxury, his own blood bank, he’ll damn well take advantage of this. 

Hongjoong’s pulse blares in his head now, the urge is on edge, settled, ready for release. Seonghwa hesitates, he exhales on Hongjoong’s skin, the junction of his neck and collarbone. He’s sensitive, the hair at his nape rises, his heart quickens, if that’s possible. He hasn’t said anything to Seonghwa yet, but he makes no move to stop him.

So Seonghwa bites. He shallowly pierces his skin, fangs extended cautiously, then deeper, sinking them in. Not too fast, though. He cares too much for Hongjoong. He drinks slowly, his mind yelling, constant, loud, desperate. He refuses to give in, but oh. Hongjoong’s skin is soft, his flesh is soft. His blood flows steady, contrary to his heartbeat -- frantic and loud, as if it just can’t get enough, can’t pump fast enough, can’t give him enough blood. That can’t be possible, Seonghwa thinks, somewhere at the back of his mind. That can’t be his heartbeat, when his pulse is so steady, yes?

That loud and frantic thing, he realises, is the thrumming of Seonghwa’s desire, alien to even his own ears. When did it get this bad? When did he let it get this bad?

Seonghwa has Hongjoong backed up against a wall; one hand steady at his shoulder, holding back his shirt, the other at his waist, to catch him if he falls.

Oh, Seonghwa’s fallen. He’s really fallen, he’s well and truly fucked. How expected.

He drinks faster. It’ll shut out all those thoughts, he decides. He’d rather not think, if he has to think about this. He drinks faster, laps up blood like he hasn’t drunk in days, like it’s the only thing keeping him going (it is.)

Hongjoong’s blood flows through him, rich, healthy, fresh, sweet. It’s addicting, intoxicating, Hongjoong could ask him to do anything for his blood and Seonghwa would, willingly, he’d kiss the floor Hongjoong walks on for it.

Hongjoong seems content with merely sighing under him, soft, fulfilled. His hand grips the one Seonghwa has at Hongjoong’s waist, and Seonghwa pulls back.

“Slow down,” he asks, breathless, blood dripping down his shirt, staining it, dripping to his unblemished skin, his perfect skin, and all Seonghwa wants to do is drink. His eyes follow a trail, down it goes, past his collarbone, down his sternum, down his abdomen, and Seonghwa stops it there, with a press of his fingers. 

He sinks to his knees. Hongjoong watches him, pupils blown wide, a question at his lips. Seonghwa slides his fingers off and replaces them with his tongue. He looks into his eyes. He keeps looking, as he licks up Hongjoong’s chest, slowly ascending, finding purchase on his shoulder, where he blocks the wound with his thumb. It still bleeds. Seonghwa’s not on his knees, but the way Hongjoong’s looking at him, he should be. He’d do it, for Hongjoong, he would. For his blood.

Seonghwa’s closing his wound now, Hongjoong’s skin back to being unblemished and flawless, traces of blood so eagerly lapped up it’s almost as if they were never there. He rolls his tongue over he punctures, smoothening the skin, healing it. Hongjoong’s breathing hard under him, his breath slowed but he’s still panting, Seonghwa can almost feel his head reeling.

God, what has he done?

Hongjoong sags against the wall, he’s spent, tired, dizzy. His head is spinning, he’d blame the blood loss, but Seonghwa knows better. Seonghwa knows what he’s done and he should regret it, he shouldn’t have attachments, but. 

But it’s Hongjoong. He’s bright and shining and alive, he’s so alive. He can’t do this to him.

He turns to leave. Hongjoong will be fine.

“Seonghwa.”

He stops, inclines his head to show he’s listening.

“Don’t - don’t go. Please.” His breathing is still irregular, but he’s standing straighter now, stepping towards Seonghwa, he can hear it.

“Can I talk to you?”

Seonghwa rolls his shoulders, flexes his fingers. He doesn’t know what to say. Yes, maybe they should talk, maybe they should clear the air, the tension. It’s looming over him, he knew he’d have to sort it out eventually, but not now. Not like this. He doesn’t want to.

“If you don’t want to talk, then listen.” Hongjoong’s extending an olive branch, he’s really trying. Seonghwa almost pities him. His heart rate is steadier, but he’s still not completely recovered. Bed rest should do him good. 

“Can you do that for me?”

Seonghwa tilts his neck to a side, then he other. He turns.

“Get some rest, please.”

Hongjoong looks back at him, mouth open, words forming at his lips. He doesn’t speak, only nods.

Seonghwa leaves, closes the door behind him, waits to hear the steady beat of Hongjoong’s heart. Once it’s reached Hongjoong’s resting (Seonghwa remembers his resting heart rate. He hears it all the damn time) He bolts to his room, soundless.

Fuck, what the fuck. What has he _done_.

Hongjoong will have expectations now, and Seonghwa will have to fulfill them. He’d expect Seonghwa to talk to him, to explain to him why the fuck he’s been avoiding Hongjoong for the past few weeks, why he’s been pretty much scampering away at the mere presence of Hongjoong.

Why he’s been skipping their breakfast ritual. 

(It started like this: once Hongjoong found out Seonghwa liked cereal, even if he didn’t need to eat, he made it a point to eat cereal with him. Every morning. That’s it.)

It had become their middle-ground, of sorts, one thing they shared in common, one meal they ate together. Hongjoong’s working hours were wack, and Seonghwa tried to be a hospitable roommate, considering Hongjoong paid half the rent. It’s not like Seonghwa lacked the money, per se, he simply lacked a convenient feeding source. Luckily his feeding source wanted to split expences and only ever asked Seonghwa to cook in exchange for his blood. A meal for a meal.

He didn’t know what to do once he’d developed feelings for his feeding source. This wasn’t in any of the books.

It broke Seonghwa, seeing Hongjoong, pathetic, spent, still believing that Seonghwa could be better, could give him what he wanted. Something in Seonghwa snapped. He had to right things.

Talking, he assumed, was the best option.

It’s gonna be a long night. 

-

It was a long night, unbearably so, and Seonghwa all but ran down the stairs at eight am. He’d thought about this, almost all night, time to make things right. 

He waited, set the table, put the box of cereal in the middle, and two bowls on both sides. He poured the milk in a jug, as well, which was honestly just pushing it. He’d never go all-out like that. Yet, here he was, setting the table for Hongjoong like it was a date. 

It wasn’t. 

Hongjoong comes down the stairs at precisely seventeen minutes past eight. He is clearly surprised to see Seonghwa, even more to see a jug of milk.

“Extra,” he remarks, and yes. That seems to cover it.

He takes the seat opposite Seonghwa. “Good morning.”

Seonghwa wants to tell him he looks good in a suit, like he’d wanted to tell him every morning since he saw him in one, but he holds his tongue. 

“Last night, when you--”

“It’s okay,” Hongjoong cuts him off. “You don’t want to talk, I understand.”

“No. I do. Last night just wasn’t the right time, I needed to get my thoughts in order.”

“Okay,” he nods, slow. He serves himself breakfast, waiting for Seonghwa to continue. 

“I have to apologise. I shouldn’t have avoided you.”

Hongjoong’s heartbeat spikes at this -- what does that mean?

“I owe you an explanation, so here I go.”

He exhales, for dramatic effect. Hongjoong’s at the edge of his seat, literally and metaphorically. He might just fall off, literally and metaphorically.

“I like you.”

Hongjoong’s heartbeat is raging. It should be off the charts, god, how is he okay? How is he breathing?

“I know it doesn’t make sense, because I haven’t exactly been, uh, courting you but I am very bad with my emotions-” how awkward. Seonghwa should stop talking, he looks down, he really doesn’t want to see Hongjoong’s face for this “- I will try better. Thank you for listening.”

Cringe. Seonghwa wants to throw himself off a cliff, god, who let him speak in the first place? That was horrible.

He looks up, unsure, to see Hongjoong’s reaction.

He’s smiling. Seonghwa relaxes. No, he’s beaming. He’s positively glowing.

“Do you mean it?” 

Seonghwa falters. “Yes, I do.”

Hongjoong’s smiling wider, if that’s possible, he’s smiling and standing, his skin is glowing, his heart is beating, so fast, he’s alive. He’s so alive.

“Wait for me,” he tells Seonghwa, and he leaves. 

Just like that, Hongjoong snatches his briefcase from the coatrack, opens the front door and closes it behind him. 

What?

Seonghwa’s convinced the whole event was a fever dream except he can’t dream any longer, so what was that?

Did Hongjoong just leave him, high and dry, after Seonghwa confessed to him?

Is this what rejection feels like?

He didn’t even finish his breakfast.

-

So Seonghwa waits, for Hongjoong’s wack hours to be over. It’ll probably be by nine this evening, so Seonghwa busies himself by cooking. He doesn’t know what to do once he’s done with that. 

He sits. He waits. 

At eight fifty-seven, the front door opens. Hongjoong steps in, places his briefcase on the coatrack, and spots Seonghwa at the table. He quirks a smile.

Not a fever dream, then.

“I ran out this morning, my apologies. What you told me should be done when I’m more awake, like now, so that I believe it’s not a dream.”

Seonghwa wants to say, “You dream about this?” but he’s cut off by Hongjoong, continuing.

“I like you too, Seonghwa. I’m not going to lie, it hurt when you straight-up ignored me. I thought I’d messed up, but seeing you now… yeah. You’re bad at emotions.”

He steps across the threshold, walks to the table, sits opposite Seonghwa. “I’m willing to try, if you are.”

“Try what?” Seonghwa’s head is blaring at him, like his urges, but this is entirely different. This is new. He likes this, he decides.

“Us,” Hongjoong says, simply. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he didn’t just shift Seonghwa’s world on its axis, like Seonghwa isn’t going mad with whatever Hongjoong’s giving him, except this isn’t like his addictions or urges, this is different, new, better. He likes it, he quite likes it.

“Yes,” Seonghwa smiles, yes. This is good. “I’m willing to try,” he tells Hongjoong.

So Hongjoong smiles back at him, and Seonghwa brings him dinner, and doesn’t stop smiling as he watches Hongjoong eat something he’d cooked, and Hongjoong blushes and looks away from Seonghwa, he’s not used to this kind of attention.

Seonghwa’s more than willing to give him this kind of attention.

After dinner, after they’d both washed up, Hongjoong drags Seonghwa to his room and pushes him down on his bed.

That’s one thing Seonghwa feels stupid for not expecting. 

Hongjoong makes him sit on the corner of his bed and drops himself onto Seonghwa’s lap, fitting his hands on Seonghwa’s shoulders as Seonghwa’s snake around his waist.

Then, Hongjoong looks at him. He’s shy, under Hongjoong’s gaze. He doesn’t want to seem too eager, but he doesn’t want to seem to disinterested, either. He settles for looking back, looking up at Hongjoong.

He smiles a small smile, then kisses him.

They’ve never kissed before, and Seonghwa finds it gentle, like a lull, much softer than him piercing Hongjoong’s skin with his teeth. Kissing, he finds, is addicting in its own way, there was nothing truly special about it, he thinks, until he kissed Hongjoong.

There was nothing truly special about drinking off a human, he finds, until he drank from Hongjoong.

He kisses him slowly, as if testing waters, then kisses him deeper, faster, lips pressing into his urgently but softly, retracting and extending, like his fangs would. They find a rhythm, and Seonghwa follows it, and if Hongjoong breaks it to find a new one, Seonghwa follows that, too.

Hongjoong’s gasping into his mouth, low, and Seonghwa hears his heart, loud, clear, fast, but calmed. Satisfied. Hongjoong’s catching his breath, yes, Seonghwa did forget he was human, and he breaths in, harshly, leaning into Seonghwa’s neck.

“Tired?” Seonghwa’s voice comes raspy. He clears his throat.

“No, never,” Hongjoong takes a final exhale. “I’ve been holding back for so long. Too many things I want to do to you.”

Seonghwa arches an eyebrow in response (it took him months to perfect) and Hongjoong smirks -- doesn’t smile, merely lifts a corner of his mouth. 

He’s pushing Seonghwa back, then. He’s straddling his lap as Seonghwa’s sprawled across his bed, and Seonghwa eyes him, unsure, but doesn’t protest. Hongjoong hesitates.

“Go on,” Seonghwa urges. “I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t like it.”

That soothes Hongjoong. 

He leans over him, kissing his lips, once, twice, thrice, he pulls back enough for Seonghwa to chase his lips. Then he kisses his neck.

Seonghwa stills. He’s never been kissed there before. 

Hongjoong’s nervous, he can hear it, like the blood is rushing to his ears instead of Hongjoong’s, like it’s his pulse that’s off the charts, like it’s him going to kiss a vampire’s neck and if Seonghwa’s not wrong, bite him.

Hongjoong sucks on his skin, pulling it between his teeth, biting down, and it should hurt, but Seonghwa’s pretty much immune to it. Hongjoong licks over it, like Seonghwa does to his bites, and oh, Hongjoong likes this. He really likes this.

Tilting his head back, Seonghwa bares more of his neck for Hongjoong to explore. There’s one spot Hongjoong finds that sends shivers down Seonghwa’s spine, that makes him, embarrassingly, whine Hongjoong’s name, and he’s all too pleased about it. 

It’s easy for Hongjoong then -- he finds the spots Seonghwa likes and bites, sucks, and kisses, until Seonghwa’s a pathetic mess, biting his own lips to keep him from further humiliating himself.

Down Hongjoong’s kisses go, and so do his hands. He settles them at Seonghwa’s navel, covered with a thin t-shirt he only wore for the sake of modesty. Hongjoong tugs at it, asking. Seonghwa nods, removes it, fluidly. At least he can look cool doing something.

Now Hongjoong’s warm hands are holding him down, burning his skin, he’s so warm, he’s so alive, Seonghwa could live off his body heat, he’d survive a Siberian winter with that. His hands fall above Hongjoong’s smaller ones, and he uses the leverage to flip them over.

Hongjoong’s under him, now. Like it was, before. Like he’s going to drink his blood.

Seonghwa stops short.

Hongjoong, clearly excited at the prospect of being under Seonghwa, raises his eyebrows in concern. What happened?

“You don’t think, uh, you don’t think I only like you for your blood, right?”

“Oh,” Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Yes, I don’t think you only want me for my blood.” Seonghwa relaxes. Good, he’s got that out of the way, it would’ve bothered him later. “However-”

Spoke too soon, Seonghwa thinks.

“-I know it’s one of the reasons.”

Seonghwa’s confused. Is that supposed to be a good thing? He suddenly feels quite awkward straddling Hongjoong. Hongjoong’s hands settle on his thighs, as if to say, no, don’t go. Wait.

“I know you like my blood, and I like giving it to you. I know what I signed up for. Liking you was not what I had imagined, but here we are.” His eyes bore into Seonghwa’s, imploring him to understand. “And I’m not complaining, not one bit.”

This is the part where Seonghwa leans down to kiss him, and Hongjoong reciprocates in earnest. Seonghwa kisses him some more, and they find a rhythm, they settle on a melody, and Seonghwa wants more, he wants to ruin him; splay his hair across his head like a twisted halo, wants to mark him up and mark him down, wants to suckle on his sacred skin and spoil it, spoil him, dig his fangs in and leave his mark.

He has times, he placates. Tonight, they’ll take it slow.

Hongjoong has other ideas. He bites Seonghwa’s lip, and Seonghwa’s slightly taken aback, it’s just unexpected, not unwelcome. Hongjoong slips off his t-shirt and throws it at Seonghwa’s face.

“I’m not fragile,” he says. “You won’t break me.”

“You have no idea.”

“No,” Hongjoong props himself on his shoulders, looking keenly at Seonghwa. “You won’t hurt me, I know that. Never intentionally.”

He nods, slowly. Okay, if that’s what Hongjoong wants.

“Hey,” Hongjoong reaches a hand out to settle on Seonghwa’s cold cheek. He draws him close. “I trust you.”

Seonghwa kisses him, lazily, in response. “I trust you, too.”

“Good,” Hongjoong throws himself back, dragging Seonghwa with him. “Go on,” he urges, voice barely above a whisper, spoken right into his ear, he can hear it loud and clear.

He braces one hand at Hongjoong’s shoulder and the other at his waist, then he bites. Sinks his teeth into soft, tight, flesh. Hongjoong makes a strangled noise under him. He likes it, Seonghwa thinks. Maybe a bit too much.

He doesn’t need to feed, really, there’s enough human blood in his system from yesterday to last him a week. He hasn’t fed for other reasons than hunger, so this, right now, it’s strange. His mouth is full of blood, Hongjoong’s blood, and it tastes even better, somehow, when he’s not mad with hunger. When his urges aren’t overpowering any other part of him. Like this, trusted, Hongjoong’s blood tastes like nectar, sacred, cherished, a luxury. He drinks a few mouthfuls, then leaves the wound open in favour of kissing the man. 

Hongjoong’s mouth, covered in his own blood, was not something Seonghwa had thought he’d see. 

He’s beautiful, Seonghwa decided. Ethereal. His hair like a twisted halo, splayed across his pillow, his own blood lining the corners of his mouth, his lips, glistening with Seonghwa’s saliva mixed with his own, deep red blooming at his neck.

Ethereal, divine, exquisite.

“Gorgeous,” Seonghwa says, into his mouth, before kissing him, tasting his blood again, drowning in his hands, his touch, his lips, his taste. He’s still bleeding -- though it’s slower now, his blood’s clotting -- and Seonghwa’s more than happy to lap it all up.

So he does, keep his eyes on Hongjoong’s as he licks, slowly, up from his navel, following a trail, tracing it back to its origin. Up his abdomen, chest, collarbones --- he stops. Kisses his wound. Sucks up the blood around it, eases it shut. He kisses the closed wound, then, just because he can.

“Feeling okay?” 

He slips off Hongjoong’s lap, falls to his side. “Hongjoong?”

“Alright,” he replies, voice hoarse. “Just a little light-headed.”

Seonghwa expectantly lifts his arm. Hongjoong gets the message, shifts closer to Seonghwa’s cool skin, as Seonghwa adjusts himself around Hongjoong. He finds his blanket at the foot of his bed and with some struggling, covers both of them with it. 

Hongjoong’s so warm, his heat is amplified under a blanket, and Seonghwa could die happy like this, wrapped in a blanket, surrounded by heat he hasn’t felt in years, warmth he hasn’t felt in years. 

Hongjoong’s drifting off to sleep next to him, his low murmurs disappearing into Seonghwa’s chest. He leans down to kiss the crown of his head, and in his sleep, Hongjoong leaves a bare kiss on Seonghwa’s collarbone.

**Author's Note:**

> hmmm mayhaps I'll write some more  
> lemme know what you think!! <3 here's my [twt ](https://twitter.com/kidfromthering?s=09)


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